The Woman in White-Speckled Black
by Virginity's Reckoning
Summary: Young solicitor Arthur Kipps comes across an evil yet alluring woman for the second time outside of Eel Marsh House. He wishes to find her, to learn from her mysterious ways. Little does he know of her evil purpose, and it is not the purpose you or I may be familiar with... Some pretty graphic content.


_This is the first strory which I wrote, in competition with my friend. This does get pretty nasty, so do not complain about the graphic content; I did warn you._

**The Woman in White-Speckled Black**

Still shaking profusely from my second encounter with that horrid woman, I regained my senses and was abruptly found aware of the salty sea mist which had quite suddenly surrounded me, enveloping me, entering every nook and cranny which I can profess to possess, and leaving my body, hair and clothing quite moist, my sleeves already dripping steadily onto the floor where my knees had been frozen just moments ago. The abundance of grass and scrub around the house out on the estuary left me quite disorientated, and some of it had managed to gain entrance to my mouth when I had fallen. The sea mist had seeped deeper into the ground than I felt possible in such a space of time, filling my entire airway with salty bush.

The woman had done this to me, and yet I was not angry. I had been left with what I can only describe as immense satisfaction, as though I had eaten a great feast, after the sight of her, but her appearance and abrupt disappearance behind a wall had left me paralysed with fear, and a tingling below my navel which I had not experienced since over a decade earlier, when my teenage self had satisfied an itch slightly more than was necessary.

The leather suit which she had been donning when I caught sight of her on the marsh remained with me. As I walked unsteadily to the gaping doors of the imposing Eel Marsh House, I could not focus upon anything other than her shiny leather suit, an ungodly sheen emanating from her, as though she had been covered in a sticky clear varnish, which had hardened. Something else was different, but as of yet I was unable to discern it. Her black face mask, which buttoned over the mouth and only showed the eyes served to emphasise the evil lust which I could sense coming from her. Their depth, mesmerising though they were, made me wonder what sort of things she had seen, what evil, what had caused such hatred and lust and loathing which she had projected some twenty inches south of my own eyes. And as she managed to pull herself away, my own eyes were torn from hers, and her nipples were staring in her eye's place, pointing at me like an industrial chimney points towards the sky, erect and tall and solid, with no intention of moving, and all of this apparent from through the thick material which shrouded her mesmerizingly evil form. And then, the thing about her appearance which had been troubling me quickly became apparent; her entire, gleaming body was covered in white speckles. They looked like many small, white paint spatters, but I knew that they were not such. I was unfortunately reminded of a sight I had thoroughly acquainted myself to seeing on my bed sheets during my carefree teenage years. Some sort of power she possessed, power which I can only fear yet, strangely, wish was used upon me. I shuddered. That is not what I wanted.

It was only when I had reached the doors, and swung them open with surprising ease (as they were so well worn that little persuasion was needed to enter them), that I was brought back to my senses. The first thing which struck me was the untidy nature of the hallway, wide and long, a cavernous space, the room was strewn with items unrelated from eachother, almost, I thought, like some sort of trophies. They had been arranged in such a way that their chaos seemed almost ordered, methodical, as though the inhabitant had taken great care to ensure each was treated with equal disregard. As I took a few steps forward, I noticed the worn carpet was sticky. A thick layer of grime had seeped deep into the fabric, and the frequent moistness of the area caused it to create a sort of gunk on the floor, keeping my feet very slightly trapped each time I stepped. Even though the place was now no longer used, nor had it been for many years, it had a sense of being once frequented by a husband, a suitor or perhaps many, and I imagined how each would feel as they took their decreasingly confident stride through the imposing and deep hallway.

I continued in this fashion of hesitant curiosity as I searched through the house, quite certain that the ghastly, leather-clad woman would appear, as suddenly as she had disappeared after the previous episode. For some reason, found myself unconsciously seeking her. Why? Perhaps that feeling she had instilled in me after her appearance attracted me, or perhaps I wanted to confront her, and ask her what she had done to me, but as of yet I was unsure.

Alas, (and somewhat to my frustration) I worked for several hours searching through the house, and I found nothing more than a questionable locked drawer of a bedside cabinet, which bore similar spattered speckled markings to that the of woman herself. Hoping to attract her, and fearing to do so, like a schoolboy planning to trip up his headmaster, I rattled at the drawer handle, but no woman appeared.

I found one door, which was indeed as impenetrable as the bedside drawer, but which, due to its annoying habit of having no key, I was unable to enter. It became clear now why I must see her. I believed, no- knew, for certainty lay embedded deep within me, that my future entering of this room would result in my gaining what had, at the back of my mind, been what I wanted since I had seen the woman in her full detail; a meeting with her, an exploration of the physical and the mental, the feeling of what life was truly about as I was sure she could show me. This continued to possess me, this obsession, and this infatuation, this need to see her again, to learn from her, to cast out my innocence and prove to me that the mundane was not all I had. I would return, I would, and I would learn from her, I wanted this. I regret that now.

After having no success whatsoever of attracting this siren to me, or finding the papers which I had indeed been sent to the house to retrieve, I settled down into the bed, as the salty mists still pressed against my windows stopped me from exploring the outside, or leave. That thought of course never crossed my mind; there was a siren calling. My bed sheets had stains burned into them, once again reminding me of my teenage days of early experience, it what I did on those nights could be compared to such a thing as true experience. As I lay, thinking of what I had to have, the feelings swelled, and this action was mirrored in a part of my body which I should not care to name. My excitement grew to a point where I had to convince myself that soon I would be out of this stress and have it, have my encounter. An explosion of my spirit or body was immanent; I would either go insane from the agony of waiting or else add to the stains on my sheets.

And as this certainty of eruption reached its peak, it was instantly doused; I had heard a noise. A noise I cannot confess to have heard before, but instilled within me a foregone conclusion of its origin. At the sound, and return of my body and mind to a controlled state, I silently leapt from my bed, nearly treading on Spider, who was cleaning his nether regions at the foot of the bed, and tiptoed silently out into the dark hallway. I noticed the stickiness of the floor even more bluntly with my bare feet, leaving me feeling quite vulnerable.

I meandered in anticipation of what I was about to experience. It was what I had wanted, what I had been searching for, what I could only crave, what had been driving me quite utterly insane these last two days, and more significantly these last two hours. I reached the source of the noise; surely it was too easy! The locked door at the end of the hallway, which had refused to open for me. Wait. That wasn't simple at all. Now I had to unlock it, or otherwise gain entry. The sound had been growing gradually as I groped my way down the sticky passageway, and now, although I could hear it more clearly, I was still unable to identify it.

I reached the door. The sound was as clear as any sound could be, and it was a sound I felt I should know, but could not define why. It was a repetitive noise, and I can only liken it to a piston moving in and out of its socket, but something else was different. There was something else to it though, a strange kind of squelching and slurping, like a hungry beast enveloping its meat. _Schlick, schlick, schlick. _And on it went. I tore myself from the auditory essence of it, and decided to see if I could peek at its source, through the keyhole. As a lowered to my knees to gaze into the void, I spotted something very odd indeed. A small crack along the skirting board leading into the wall was pouring with small creatures, tiny cockroaches scuttling as fast as they could away from the noise.

I peered into the little slit of the keyhole, and although the room was dark, and I could see very little of what seemed to be a vast space, I could make out movement on the far side. I gasped at the slight gleam in the moonlight; leather. The sound was louder than anticipated, and the movement and the sound stopped in an instant. Quite suddenly, those dark, lustful, hateful eyes were peering at me through the slot. A cold swept over me.

I awoke, on a somewhat hard, lumpy surface, in a dark room. My head was thick, my mouth furred and dry, my limbs stiff. I was lying on a bed, not dissimilar to the one I had last left, but in a way less welcoming, as though it's primary concern what that of itself rather than the user. The room was large. A musty, salty smell lingered on the air, like a pile of rotting fish had been hidden within the very walls. I tried to sit up. I could not. Tethers bound me to the bedposts, leaving me laying there in a star formation, open to anything. The cold of the room was extraordinary. I sensed movement somewhere behind me.

It was only at this point that I realised what it was that had stirred me; the small, hairy dog named Spider was thrusting himself vigorously against my leg, and I could feel his warm, surprisingly long shaft gyrating against my calf. Some deep desire within me was disturbed, but I quickly subdued it. This was a dog after all. What I did not do was attempt to stop the creature; I was powerless to try in my trussed state, and in any sense, I did not want to. I sensed more movement behind me as I lay back and allowed Spider to perform his filthy yet innocent acts, and slowly, that squelching, slurping sound returned. It did not dishearten me; I found my deepest, darkest desires harder to control, only my tethers were now stopping me in joining what I now knew she was doing.

With the crescendo and acceleration of the sounds from both the dog and the woman, my heart rate followed, I could feel it palpitating in every one of my limbs… every last one. The anticipation I had known just minutes (or hours, how long had I been unconscious?) earlier was once again rising fast, as was my manhood. The dog was thrusting now at such speed that I thought he may receive brain damage from the vibrations.

And as the dog came, I felt a spurt of his joy flicker through me, and onto me. I heard the woman stand. The dog turned and ran with his tail between his legs, and lay silent beneath where I knew she must be standing. The dog's shamefully joyous residue remained upon me, seeping into my clothing.

Footsteps. The woman was closing in, and the smell of salt and rotting fish and the must of an untraveled corridor followed her, like a putrid cloud, invisible, deadly, and unforgiving. She was approaching, and finally, I saw her once again. All of my misdeeds of the evening, all of my immoral urges had been due to her, and I had the oddest though that after this experience I would thank her for it all. I was wrong.

She stood at the foot of my bed. Even through the darkness, I could make out her cold, black, lustful eyes through the holes in her harsh leather mask. I looked her up and down. At this range I could see in greater detail her white speckling; it was not unlike that of a seaman in the torrential rain, with its dripping marks glimmering in the shaft of moonlight coming in from the window. The varnish effect was more noticeable now, and I could see that this was now caused by what looked like clear versions of the white marks, as if the substance had hardened with age on the old leather suit.

She climbed onto the hard bed, and there was no way to deny the fact now- my penis was screaming in anticipation. It was stood to full stretch, so hard that it was painful and I could not move any surrounding muscles. The woman bent down, so that she lay nose to nose with me, never breaking away from my eyes with her own, and a chill ran down my spine. Without breaking eye contact, she touched me with one hand. It was the coldest part of a being which I ever hope to experience. I felt my nipples solidify into two small points. She reached down into my trousers, and instead of the usual reflex of having ice placed against ones genitals, my bone was not appeased, nor did its companions retreat into the warmth of the body, they were in fact spurred on, and pulsated all the more violently. She continued to stare me in the eye evenly, indifferently, unchastely.

It was true that the ghastly way in which she proceeded to touch me greatly upset me, but far, far worse was what emanated from and surrounded her steady and arose to unsteady me, her gaze, the force- I do not know exactly what to call it- of evil, and uncleanness, of terror and suffering, of malevolence and bitter anger, of frustrated lust.

That disgusting woman continued to molest me for some time, and at each point that I was about to gain my desired pleasure she was stop, and squeeze with her ice-cold grip upon my scrotum, dousing any hope I had of a happy ending. After a while, she stood on the mattress, her leather glimmering, and her eyes hateful and she began to undress me, still not cutting our eye contact, unblinking. The cold ran through my own veins now, so that my breathing was harsh and deep, gasping as though unable to gather oxygen through normal breath.

Now, she took off my shirt, my penis still stiff like a board, and to get the garment from off my tethers she tore it, ripping it with disregard of its high quality and price. Then she did what shall haunt me for the rest of my life. She squatted, a leg on either side of my chest, and I saw a gash in her leather, running from where the vagina would begin all the way around to the anal cavity. The excitement left me, the anticipation became fear, all at once. As she squatted, it spread, revealing to my horror not two distinct orifices, but one. The vagina and anus had fused. She continued her cold, loveless eye contact. I had read about a condition such as this in my many perusals of scientific journals. It was caused by being raped as a baby. Now it all made sense; her hatred of men, her cold indifference to sexual encounters, her many soulless suitors. However, this did not justify the spectre's molestation of me. I looked her in the eye hard, and said "I understand. It's okay. You don't have to do this anymore." She gagged me with a small apple and some cloth which she produced from a pocket near one of her rock hard nipples. She also brought out some freezing cold clamps and attached them agonisingly to my nipples, still squatting, spreading, staring.

The truly most horrific and disturbing part of my ordeal next ensued. She squatted even lower, and parted her opening even more, and appeared to be tensing. I could see what must be a hymen (I had studied extensively in school the workings of the pure female body, and not always in class). But this was not a pure, virgin human. The hymen was made of cloth, inserted crudely into her, clearly in some vain posthumous attempt to return some decency to the poor woman, who had been raped repeatedly, and finally succumbed to the agony mid-way through her life.

Through her leather, I saw her muscles contract, and she shook, and appeared to be squeezing. Slowly, I realised what she was doing. I looked back to her eyes; they were unchanged. My regard returned to her vagina, or anus, (for I am not sure which to call it), and a large brown and sticky looking substance was emerging from her. She was defecating upon my chest. I tried to yell out but my gag muffled the cry. I slowly realised that this was no ordinary excrement. It was coming more from her vagina than her rectum, and was the size of a large baby. It _was_ a large baby. Suddenly, the thing emerged from her and her muscles loosened, and the room was even colder than it had been, and I nearly threw up from the sight. Upon my chest lay a large and very dead baby, as cold as the woman herself. When the baby fell upon me, the woman squirted a quantity of salty fluid upon the motionless scat baby. The smell in the room was renewed, causing my eyes to water. Her gaze was, for the very first time in a great many minutes, torn from me, and her eyes were no longer filled with lust or hatred, but love, and great sadness.

I felt the pain which she had endured. I empathised, I felt sorry for her for one small moment. This was her quest for virginity, and for revenge, to punish that which had taken her purity, partaken in the pillaging of her sacred and forbidden fruit. She was out to ruin the innocence of men. Surely it could not get worse than this rape?

And then, her eyes returned to stare deeply into mine. The lust and hatred and anger were there too. She pulled down my trousers with her hands as cold as ice, and then reached into her vagina. Out came a scalpel, twinkling in the ray of star light entering. She sat on my penis, and ran it deep through her, and strummed her clitoris like a violin in E minor. The false hymen within her was tattered, and fell apart, out of her. I could not help it, my whole body was cramping; I ejaculated. It was extremely warm, probably caused by the woman's cold, and it was a deep orgasm stronger than I can ever recall, so much that I nearly passed out again. It landed upon her face, into her eyes, yet she did not blink, just continued to glare. Much of my load stumbled resignedly upon her leather suit, blending perfectly with the other hardened ejaculate. Some of my final spurts of boiling hot semen fell upon the tattered cloth-hymen, and the baby's corpse upon my chest .She looked at me now with more loathing than I can ever hope to inspire.

The scalpel was still in her hand. My penis was still hard. She glowered at me, shooting daggers. She ran the blade from my urethral opening all the way down, cutting it open. I screamed, and that could be heard even through my gag. She continued, the sharp, cold knife performing its duty effortlessly and mercilessly. She cut open my scrotum, and removed my testicles, discarding them. Spider ate them before me. Tears poured from my eyes. My penis was sliced like a comb. I bled upon the sheets, but my organ was still hanging on. In a final act of hatred and disgust, the woman looked me deep in the eyes, and she plunged the scalpel into my urethra, and forced it as far as the handle would allow. Such pain is indescribable. She mangled me. Then, the woman in white speckled black stood, and walked out of the door, with one new stain upon her garment.

You asked for my story. I have told it. Enough.


End file.
